Mary's Story
by alimison
Summary: This is the story of Mary Bennet. She has undergone quite a change since visiting her sister Elizabeth at Pemberley, and is an almost entirely new person.
1. Chapter One

Letter from Mrs Fanny Bennet to Mrs Anne Gardiner, 4 April 1815.  
  
My dear sister Gardiner,  
  
Oh my dear sister! You cannot know how I long for you and my dear brother to be at my side, for such a flurry there is in Meryton! It is no good at all for my poor nerves - such fluttering, such spasms it behoves my body to inflict upon me! - but then, I never complain. What a lot has gone on in the last few months! I can hardly draw breath from all the to-do here and there. I shall tell you all of what has been happening in our poor neighbourhood since I last wrote, as you are not doubt wondering what on earth has caused such nervousness in your poor sister Bennet!  
  
What a lot of fuss there has been in the last two months, sister, because it seems as if all of the county is up and leaving! It all started four months ago when old Mr Chappell popped off (a happy release, but I blame that Dr Watts, sister!). His dear wife was left in such a state, why, the suffering she went through, it was certainly no joke. Although I am inclined to think that she was acting, for she always did want attention! But after two months she had recovered sufficiently to sell Stoke, and move the family to London! Well, if that wasn't shock enough, the Gouldings decided to move to town also, not a week after the Chappells, selling Haye Park, because their son is so sickly that they think he should be near London practitioners! He always was a sickly little thing, poor fellow, and so partial to my girls, of course. I am sure he very nearly broke his heart when Lydia married dear Wickham! And then what do you think happened, but Edgar Purvis married some rich wench and decided to move to Kent on her fortune! So all his family went with him, and now three houses have been sold - Stoke, Haye Park, and Purvis Lodge! To crown it off, my dear, dear sister, my dear Jane has announced that Bingley and herself are leaving Netherfield and moving to Derbyshire! You can understand how distressed I feel, my dear sister, to hear news like that! And I am persuaded that my dear Jane should not leave, for she is with child, you know! But no one listens to my advice, as you know. So that is four houses abandoned, and the youngest Lucas child dead from the smallpox! What a dreadful disease! Lady Lucas is inconsolable, but as I said to my sister Philips just last evening, it is a mercy that the disease did not spread to anyone else!  
  
My dear sister, I have just again picked up my pen, and I have such news! My heart quite races at the thought of it! It was not to be thought of so quickly! My sister Philips has just now quite ran from Meryton to tell me - "Sister!" said she, "I have news, and it surpasses imagination!" I daresay you will be in a whirl of anticipation by now, for I certainly was! Sister, all four houses are taken, and another! It was not to be thought of, but there it is, and to top it all, by the most genteel of people! I shall tell you all about it. Purvis Lodge has become Guildford Hall, (doesn't that sound distinguished!), and a Sir Edward Guildford is coming from London with his wife and seven children, on account of his gout! My sister Philips tells me he has a large fortune and is respected throughout England for his generosity, and his wife for her entertainment! Oh, my spine tingles at the thought of a ball at Guildford Hall! Oh, and my dear sister, the couple are not pleased with the ballroom at Purvis Lodge, and as Mrs Slithy told my sister Philips who told me, they are going to build a large, sumptuous ballroom onto the house! And coming to the great house of Ashworth which has been empty for so long, my dear sister, is an earl! I admit I almost shrieked when I heard it, sister! Better yet, he has a young wife, as he was a widower, who is sure to want to entertain! And even better still, he has five children, and his eldest son and heir, a Viscount, is an eligible bachelor, and said to be very handsome! And sister! You will never be able to guess this! Moving into the hall at Stoke for a time is no less a personage than the Sir Geoffrey Penfold! Yes, the man we all dreamed about dancing with if we should ever make it to London in our youth! The Beau of London! Apparently his country manor in Surrey was burned down in a terrible accident and he had to find a new country house. He married the Belle of the Season, as we all remember. I didn't think her at all pretty myself, but as she brings five children and a niece and nephew with her, my sister Philips and I have decided that for the sakes of Mary and Kitty, we will treat her with the utmost goodwill. Fancy, three handsome and rich sons who are entirely eligible! I would mention the nephew too, for he is said to be wildly handsome, but he has no fortune, or so I hear. But this niece, sister! From what I understand, Miss Estelle d'Arbre has a most dramatic and gruesome past! I understand that her mother, the sister of Lady Penfold, ran off with a Frenchman to Paris, and he was later hung for treason, a crime he did not commit! The mother and child were reduced to a state of poverty, and the mother died when the child was ten years of age. When Madame d'Arbre died, Sir and Lady Penfold sent for the child, and have raised her ever since. It is said that she is very beautiful, and quite normal, except for the trace of a French accent, and a mournful countenance. But is it not shocking! However, my tongue - or my pen - runs away with me. Into Haye Park come a family called Hendry who come from Bath; they appear to be very rich; they have three children; and are pretty young to have children that age - my sister Philips hints of an elopement years ago! I know not much about them. The fifth family that is to move into the area is not so much a family as a group, sister, and it is a circumstance which arouses much laughter! You see, sister, they move into Netherfield, and their party consists of a young man, his two sisters, one sister's husband, and two of the young man's friends! You see, sister? Almost exactly the same as the Bingley party! Even Mr Bennet laughed, and commented that he hoped they showed the same propensity to marry his daughters as the former Netherfield party; what with Bingley marrying Jane and Darcy marrying Lizzy! Imagine the prospect of another daughter happily settled at Netherfield - oh, what a comfort that would be!  
  
And so, my dear sister, you can see the excitement we have been in for the last few months! The construction has begun on Purvis Lodge, which I should call Guildford Hall, and the first family is to arrive tomorrow. As for myself, I think all this hustle and bustle is much ado about nothing, and I make it my penchant to discourage the gossip of neighbours like Lady Lucas as much as possible; I consider it a shameful thing that several families cannot move into the neighbourhood without raising such a fuss. But anyways, I have taken the liberty of counting the number of young, eligible men who will now be in the path of the girls, and it comes to quite twelve, if you disregard fortune, and the number of young women will provide the girls with influential, polished friends who may be able to get the girls onto their brothers' notice, like Jane with Caroline Bingley! But, oh sister! When I think of Lizzy and Mr Collins! It all turned out for the best, indeed, how can Mr Collins compare with Mr Darcy? - That comforts me a lot when I think of Charlotte Lucas presiding over my own home! But, even if it has turned out for the best, if one of my daughters refused an offer, and he offered for that Maria Lucas instead - oh sister! I think I should die!  
  
It does not seem that anything else has happened in Meryton over the last few months, besides all the shifting about and farewells that have been going on. But yes, sister, I forget! I have something very particular to tell you about my Mary. She has changed peculiarly. As much as I am fond of her, one has to admit she was a little like the ugly duckling in the tale, sister - she would moralise all the time she could, and insisted on wearing drab, unflattering garments - but as I said, sister, an odd change has come about her. She went away to Pemberley in August to visit Lizzy, and she came back a few weeks ago, changed beyond recognition. Lizzy had bought her several tasteful dresses, had advised her on hair and face, and as much as I can bring Mary to admit, talked with her often, and Mr Darcy too, which surprises me beyond belief. Anyhow, Mary has blossomed. She actually looks pretty, sister. Her father does not admit that part of it, but he acknowledged readily that she is greatly improved in sense - I am inclined to disagree with him, I always thought her a very wise, thoughtful person - but I cannot help but be pleased when I see that Mary now enjoys the thought of things she once found tedious beyond bearing; namely, balls. Kitty is pleased too, for she misses her other sisters, and she and Mary were not good friends before.  
  
But my tongue runs away with me yet again. I hope you and the children are well, and give my love to my brother Richard.  
  
Your loving sister-in-law, Fanny Bennet.  
  
**************  
  
Mary had indeed changed. She sat now in her bedroom, gazing from her comfortable spot on the window seat. The view was different now from her previous acknowledgement of it; not in a physical sense, but to her, it was almost beyond comparison. It seemed strange that just because Lizzy had taken the trouble of inviting her to Pemberley, had invested time and money in her apparel and in her mind, had actually seemed to care about what happened to her sister, just because of all this, she had changed so dramatically. It was a novel experience having someone interested in her for herself. It was also a novel experience now, looking into the mirror without a sense of apprehension, seeing that now instead of ugly, drab and plain features, it was now passably good-looking, perhaps pretty ones. Certainly not ravishing. But so different to her former looks. And when she looked into those eyes, she saw her soul actually sitting on the edge of them, unhidden and unhindered. She almost cried and laughed at the same time to think of her past character: a proud, self-righteous, idiotic stranger she had not seemed able to repress.  
  
So what had happened? She didn't quite understand what had happened herself. She had gone to Pemberley in August reluctantly, knowing that she would be for the most part ignored, as usual. Mary was obstinate in her own way, and the more people stayed away from her because of her strange ways, the more she was determined to act in what she knew were ridiculous and vain ways. But upon arrival at Pemberley, she found Elizabeth disposed to be caring and vivacious with her younger sister, and Mr Darcy surprisingly ready to come down from his usual aloofness and make efforts with her. She didn't know if they had made a plan purposely to change her, or if they just did that on the spur of the moment, but it had certainly worked. Lizzy and Georgiana, Mr Darcy's younger sister, had spent a lot of time working on Mary's apparel, hair, and features, and every evening Mr Darcy and Lizzy would purposefully sit down with Mary and make sensible conversation, tolerating no rubbish, and showing that they seriously cared about her. So Mary Bennet came back to Longbourn at the end of September - changed.  
  
She wore graceful, pretty dresses. She styled her hair. She took care of her appearance. She enjoyed the society of Kitty and other young women. She spent time on the pianoforte still, but played in a carefree, pleasant style. She enjoyed life for what it was. She stopped to smell the roses. She stopped reading the pompous Fordyce's Sermons and instead relied upon the untainted Scriptures, which could thrill her to the soul, unlike Fordyce. She was friendly. She had sense enough to be silly sometimes. She looked forward to balls, suddenly no longer a wallflower. She enjoyed having conversations with her father, and she knew he enjoyed it too, as she felt his surprise. She was stunned to find that she had a wit. She felt shyness instead of that insufferable superior attitude she had had before. She even felt vulnerable sometimes.  
  
And now she stared out of the window. She had never noticed the beautiful wispy clouds before, nor the green, rolling hills, seemingly endless after they had been broken by the sporadic spots of inhabitation, nor the green, broad oaks to the north, nor the untidy, resilient poplars to the east. The sun was setting now, spreading its light over the hills - some parts were in mysterious darkness while others were drowned in glorious sunshine. It was all how Mary felt England should look. She had never actually noticed all of this before. Of course she had seen it, in a way, but searching her past now, she knew she had never done more than that. She had never felt part of it. She sighed happily, sat for a moment more, and ran downstairs to the sitting room. 


	2. Chapter Two

A few weeks later, Mr Bennet sat in his library the morning after becoming utterly exhausted by the rigours of visiting all the new families who had to be welcomed into the area. His wife had hounded him and hounded him until he had admitted, yes, he did plan to visit all the new families, however detestable the job may be to him. He sipped his wine thoughtfully as a small knock came on the door. "Yes?" he called.  
  
Mary slipped inside. "Good morning, Father," she said softly, trying to discern whether she should try and talk to him or not. "How are you?"  
  
"Tolerably well, Mary, tolerably well," he said, settling down his glass and indicating the seat opposite him. "What is it you want, child?"  
  
"Nothing, Father, I just wished to know how your interviews went, and you made such a point of not telling Mother that I did not get a chance to hear."  
  
He chuckled. "Well, the interviews - interesting, Mary. You once had no taste for news such as this, child."  
  
She lowered her eyes. "I do not mean to gossip, Father."  
  
"And you are not gossiping, my dear. Don't trouble yourself on that; you are much improved, my girl. Well! The interviews! As you know, I visited your mother's favourite, Sir Geoffrey, first. Hmmmm, an interesting man. Very handsome for his age, of course, but most genial, not a touch of stiffness about him. I feel I shall get on with him tolerably. I met only his wife, nephew and niece, and I like them all a lot, I think. Your mother dislikes Lady Penfold without even meeting her, but I do not have a former prejudice against her," he smiled.  
  
Mary laughed. "No, indeed, why should you, Father? I own I should be much concerned if I heard that you were jealous of Lady Penfold because she married Sir Penfold! But what of the nephew, Mr Trevor Newlands?"  
  
"Well, he was as an agreeable man as I have ever seen, Mary. What you girls may think extremely handsome, I suppose. He is certainly an appealing figure. But I must not whet your interest in him; your mother says I must not as he has no fortune! And the niece, Miss d'Arbre! I admit I was looking forward to meeting her with some apprehension, due to the long and dramatic tales your silly mother has told of her, but she turned out to be as any handsome, proper girl, with only a twinge of mystery about her. It was most disappointing."  
  
"Are they all the family you met, sir?"  
  
"Yes. There are three sons called Malcolm, James and Ernest, and two daughters called Anthea and Belinda, from what I hear. I am disposed to think of them as without exception handsome, if the whole family is similar to the portion I met."  
  
"And what of the other families you visited, sir?" enquired Mary.  
  
"Well, next I visited the precious Earl of Remington and his family. They seem to be also a charming family, although the old boy is as gruff as a griffin! He has a good head upon his shoulders though, and I should not be surprised to find him as sensible a man as ever lived. His young wife Countess Grayling knows exactly how to handle him; she is a fine young woman, Mary, all confidence and fire! I met all his family also. His eldest, a Lady Ada, is insupportable in my standards. She just sits, looking wistful! No doubt she is a very good sort of person, but she needs to show it more. She is a little like Jane in appearance, but Jane has more character."  
  
"And what of the handsome, eligible Viscount?" enquired Mary mischievously. "I hear so much about him!"  
  
Mr Bennet laughed. "The Viscount Kemsley is a very respectable sort of fellow; jolly good old chap type of man, he reminds me a little of Bingley. He seems sadly scatter-brained though; somewhat like his eldest sister, but more agreeable. The next eldest, Lady Selina, is a sensible young woman, witty like your sister Lizzy, I should say. She impressed me a lot. She seems the kind of girl I would like to see friends with you and Kitty; vivacious and brilliant, but not at all silly. Possessed of a good dowry too, or so I hear. Her younger brother the Honourable Marlon Grayling is an excitable young chub, it seems, hooked on all kinds of sports, and not at all partial to balls, which is a pity for all the young ladies; but never fear, I am sure that he shall change with time."  
  
Mary laughed. "Oh, I am not worried, Father! There are more than enough young men to go around!"  
  
"The youngest, Lady Valerie," he continued with a twinkle in his eye, "is only just out, and seems like a nice, animated type of girl, I think, although overawed a little easily. And that is the family of the Earl of Remington, my dear! Who shall I describe to you now?"  
  
"Oh! I am most interested to hear of the inhabitants of Netherfield, Father!"  
  
"To be sure," he said. "Netherfield it shall be. Well, Mr Jasper Nesbit is a cordial young man, nothing like Mr Bingley was, but not lacking in admirable qualities. Very staid and proper he is, but you mustn't hope for another Mr Collins, my dear, he seems to be quite sensible, unfortunately."  
  
He was here interrupted by a giggle, and an "Oh, Father!"  
  
He continued. "Miss Emma Nesbit, his youngest sister, is a very welcoming young lady, which is to be thanked for if we were anticipating another Caroline Bingley. Very polite, very affable - I am sure she will be well- liked with all the matrons round here, for she is respectable enough, but not well-favoured enough in their eyes to pose as a threat to one or another of their daughters chances with the men residing at Netherfield." Here came another giggle. "And her sister, Mrs Anne Milne, is agreeable enough, but lacks the warmth her brother and sister have. She is married to a Mr Douglas Milne, who, unlike Mr Hurst was, is a very intelligent, sharp- witted sort of man, the type who is always so awake and bright-eyed that you feel quite sleepy in comparison! Mr Nesbit has two friends staying with him, a Mr Alcott and a Mr Hildesly. Mr Alcott is quite the handsomest person you may ever see, but has a deplorable arrogance about him; he is not at all likeable. Worse, you may say, than Mr Darcy was! He languishes about on the couches all day if he is not hunting or being arrogant, and refuses to even try to be civil! I fear he is a great embarrassment to his cordial young friend, but I quite look forward to the next ball to see him slight all the young women and offend the matrons - I look forward with relish!"  
  
"You would, sir!" scolded Mary. "Do you know what it is like to be slighted? Therefore, I shall watch out for him, and be careful not to be in a position to be slighted!"  
  
"And so you should, my dear, so you should. Meanwhile, I will carry on my account of the Netherfield party. Mr Hildesly, I think, is next? Yes, Mr Hildesly. He is quite the fellow I like the most at Netherfield; a witty, kind sort of man. Quite the opposite of both Alcott and Nesbit. A most interesting man to converse with, too. He isn't at all handsome, but he is supposed to be very rich, if that's what you're interested in. Well, that's all the Netherfield party, who shall you hear of next?"  
  
But as Mary opened her mouth to answer, a voice was heard on the other side of the door. "Mary? Mary? MARY! Oh, where is that dratted girl?"  
  
Mary shut her mouth, sighed, and rolled her eyes at her father. "Coming, Mother!" she called, and got up.  
  
"It'll have to wait until another time, Mary," said Mr Bennet sympathetically.  
  
"Yes, Father," she replied as she made her way out of the room and towards her mother's voice. 


	3. Chapter Three

After Mary had performed the small task her mother gave her, she returned to her father's library, hoping to hear the rest of his narrative.  
  
"Oh! Here you are then!" he said. "And what did your mother find for you to do this time?"  
  
"I just had to run down to Lucas Lodge with a message for Lady Lucas, Father," explained Mary. "Will you continue what you were telling me, if you please?"  
  
"But of course. Who would you like me to tell you of now?"  
  
Mary thought. "Hmmmm... I am interested to hear of the Guildfords."  
  
"Then the Guildfords it shall be. Well, my dear, Sir Edward is a lot like your uncle Gardiner; very amiable and well-favoured. He is a very enthusiastic gentleman, and his wife, Lady Guildford, is a lot like him. Very happy, very positive. They are both sure that they will love Hertfordshire, and have already promised me a ball, which, as you may imagine, gratified me deeply," he finished dryly.  
  
Mary laughed. "Of course, that was the first thought that sprang to mind! I should as soon say that Mother would be excessively disappointed by the news!"  
  
He chuckled. "Yes, yes, Mary. Shall I continue? Yes well, I met all of the Guildfords' seven children, and in general they seem to be a delightful family. The eldest is a very fashionable fellow, or so I hear, and very popular in town, so you would have thought that to be spending his winter in a small area like Meryton would have disgusted him greatly, but he is all eagerness and exuberance; quite a strange thing for a man his age! The next eldest is a quiet young man bent on reading, obviously very thoughtful and intelligent, but a little too unsociable for my tastes. The next is a young woman, Miss Annabel Guildford, about your age, I should think. She is a very handsome, sweet sort of girl, a little like Jane, I believe, but more animated. She has a most beautiful laugh. Helena Guildford is the next eldest. She is just as any other girl her age, I think. She has a lot of confidence and is quite an appealing girl. I believe-"  
  
But at this point he was interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
"Yes?" he answered.  
  
Hill opened the door. "Mr Nesbit, Mr Milne, Mr Hildesly and Mr Alcott, sir."  
  
Four gentlemen walked into the library, obviously the new Netherfield tenants, thought Mary. She curtsied shyly, still unused to trying to make a good impression on men.  
  
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Mr Bennet. "It's a pleasure to see you. Please sit down." He gave Mary a sly wink. "Let me introduce my daughter Mary."  
  
The men bowed as Mr Bennet introduced each one to Mary. Mr Nesbit was a short, nondescript sort of man with orange hair and a pleasant countenance. He had nothing of the handsome features which Mr Bingley had been favoured with, but had an agreeable air about him. He smiled and nodded at Mary. Mr Hildesly smiled and shook Mary's hand most warmly when they were introduced. He was, like Mr Nesbit, not at all handsome, but he had an electric sort of personality which recommended itself to a stranger directly. His happy manners reminded Mary a lot of Jane's Mr Bingley, but he seemed to be more switched-on. Mary suspected that he probably did not have Bingley's pleasant but gullible tendency to believe that all of the world was good - despite the exuberance that shone from him, he had a calm and measuring eye if one looked closely. The next gentleman to be introduced was Mr Milne, the needle-witted fellow that Mr Bennet had felt sleepy beside. He talked fast and sensibly, and shook hands with both father and daughter briskly. He had a thin moustache and glasses, and sat straight up like a poker, as alert as a meercat. The last person to be introduced to Mary was the handsome Mr Alcott, who was quite as Mary had imagined him to be. He was dark and brooding, and seemed to wear a permanent grimace. One could imagine him as the nemesis in any gory novel. However, he was so very handsome that Mary began to think that maybe he wasn't so bad after all; that is, until he was introduced to her. He simply scowled and gave her a stiff bow. Mary smiled sweetly in return, her eyes showing all her amusement at his arrogant demeanour. One admirable thing about Mary while she was still the pious little hypocrite was that she didn't care a jot whether people were rude to her or not, and she had not lost this quality. Mr Alcott seemed a little surprised and offended at her laughing eyes, and was even more so when Mr Bennet gave a short laugh and winked at his middle daughter. He folded his arms, crossed his legs, and planted a look of such transparent disdain on his face that it took all of Mary's self control to stop laughter from breaking out of her lungs.  
  
The visit was not long, as the group had to go and return the visits of many other people that morning, but before they went, Mr Nesbit asked if they could wander the garden of which they had heard so much. Here Mary blushed a little, and was proud, for she had spent all her free time tending to the garden for the past few months, and even she had to admit to herself that it was much improved. She was gratified when her father said in reply, "Yes the gardens have become lovely since Mary here started investing her time in them. If you wish, she will show you around them."  
  
"Oh, we would not bother you so, Miss Bennet," said Mr Hildesly cordially. "It is a chilly day out, so we will show ourselves around."  
  
Mary was pleased to disclaim the arduous task of showing the gentlemen around; it was not quite yet the most comfortable thing in the world to make conversation with four perfect strangers, especially when they were all male. However, she did wish to know what they thought of her garden, so she went to sit in the small conservatory with a mischievous smile on her face, sheltered from view of the four men, but in a good place so as to hear everything they said while walking in the garden.  
  
When they had slowly made their way to the garden outside the conservatory, she heard the voice of Mr Hildesly, and her heart warmed towards him at his words. "She must be very skilled to create a lovely garden such as this."  
  
"Do you really think so, Richard?" came Mr Alcott's dry voice. "I had not thought you so gullible! That girl did no more on this garden than you or I did; depend upon it, it was a gardener."  
  
You can understand Mary's anger at these words. But she made no movement, only straining to hear more.  
  
"I shall never understand why you are so skeptical of everything and everyone, Matthew," complained Mr Hildesly. "You never seem to believe anything that anyone says. Why? What is your reason?"  
  
"And I shall never understand why you are so oblivious to any efforts to entangle you, Richard," drifted back the voice of Mr Alcott. "Too often have I been in the situation when some young woman or another throws out their lures to try and trap my fortune. And by such a girl as this Miss Bennet!"  
  
"What do you mean?" demanded Mr Hildesly.  
  
"What do I mean?" Mr Alcott cracked out a dry laugh. "I mean, my dear Richard, that she is a common, vulgar sort of girl with dreary looks and features who can only suffer shaking our hands because we have fortunes far higher than she can ever dream of."  
  
"You are mistaken, Alcott," said the sharp voice of Mr Milne. "She is just a friendly, normal sort of girl."  
  
"Maybe to you," snapped back Mr Alcott. "You are already married. What hope can she have of securing you? I am persuaded that she is a twitty, plain girl with no features to recommend her but her supposed gardening skills."  
  
"I think..." said Mr Hildesly slowly, "that you are angered because she laughed at you, Matthew."  
  
"Shall we go?" was all Mr Alcott said.  
  
The men walked off, and Mary sat in the conservatory, hot tears springing to her eyes. How dare he! How dare he! She was absolutely furious. Because she had the sense to only laugh at his supercilious ways, he felt bound to insult her on everything he could possibly think of about her! She was disgusted with him. She did smile a little as she thought about Mr Hildesly's kind remarks on her behalf, but as for Mr Alcott - she resolved never to laugh at him again; from now on, the only emotion he would find in her icy blue eyes would be coldness. She wiped her eyes and ran upstairs to her bedchamber, pulling out her Bible and reading her favourite passages to comfort her, scribbling down furious paragraphs in her diary at the horridness of Mr Alcott, and finally throwing punches at her pillow, imagining it was Mr Alcott's surly, horrible face.  
  
She finally fell asleep on her bed, exhausted, and did not wake until dinnertime. 


	4. Chapter Four

_Before I continue on this story, I want everyone who is reading it to know that although I enjoyed writing this story, and I do like it to an extent, looking back at it now I'm not so happy with it - things like characterisation and predicability. I don't want to put you off reading it (!) but please don't be mean when critiquing it because I probably already understand! However, I'm putting it up because a lot of people have requested I do so. Thank you very much for the warm and helpful critiques. _

The Assembly Rooms were buzzing with light and people. Mary and Kitty walked up the steps together. Tonight was the night they would meet all the newcomers, for Mary had only met the men of Netherfield, and Kitty had met no one.

"I hope we have lots of partners, Mary," said Kitty nervously, "for I know no one here but Maria Lucas. We are just as disadvantaged as all the newcomers here tonight. I would rather all our old friends were here. I miss Tiffany Purvis."

Mary squeezed her hand. "Don't worry; I am here, and so is Maria, and although I am not very well practised at getting along with strangers, you make friends with ease."

"Yes, I suppose that is true," said Kitty. She looked at Mary with an expression of wonder on her face. "You've changed past belief, Mary."

Mary gave only a rueful smile.

They entered the Assembly Rooms and stood by the entrance looking around the room. So many new faces everywhere! It was almost terrifying to see a place so familiar filled with people so unfamiliar.

"Miss Bennet?" came a voice from behind them. Mary turned round, surprised to see Mr Hildesly smiling at her. "Oh! Good evening, Mr Hildesly!"

"Good evening," he returned. "I am glad to see a face I have already met! Please introduce me to your friend."

"Certainly," replied Mary. "This is my sister, Miss Catherine Bennet. Kitty, this is Mr Hildesly."

Kitty curtsied, grinning at Mr Hildesly. "How do you do?"

He bowed. "Very well, I thank you, Miss Catherine. If your hand is unsolicited, would you do me the honour of dancing with me the first?"

"With pleasure," Kitty smiled, almost shyly.

Mary stifled a laugh, watching them. It was obvious that Mr Hildesly was very impressed by Kitty, who was certainly looking lovely tonight, and that Kitty was intrigued and interested by Mr Hildesly, which must be a first considering that she had only deigned to look at officers for a long time.

Mary herself was wearing an ivory coloured dress with clever beadwork on it and white freesias in her dark hair. Although the dress was very simple, it was elegant, and she looked very pretty too. However, she would not admit that, as looking pretty only made her feel vulnerable. She walked off from Kitty and Mr Hildesly to get herself a drink, unconscious that several eyes were following her already.

Balls made her nervous now. Before, she had just found them intolerable and frivolous, because she had not wanted to enjoy them, but now she found herself wanting desperately to enjoy herself, and that caused a slight feeling of apprehension that she might not be at all solicited to dance. She sighed, and sipped her lemonade.

"Excuse me, miss?" asked a voice timidly.

She spun round, startled by the noise.

A young woman stood before her. "I am so sorry, I surprised you," she said.

"Not at all," replied Mary.

The girl let out a peal of bell-like laughter. "Oh, I did! I know I did! And I am ever so sorry." She reached out her hand to shake Mary's. "You must tell me your name."

"I am Mary Bennet."

"Oh! Pleased to meet you, Miss Bennet, I have heard so much about you. I am Annabel Guildford."

"I am happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Guildford, for I too have heard a lot about you!"

Miss Guildford laughed again, an animated, pleasant laugh which Mary thought quite enchanting. "I am very sorry to introduce myself to you without a _proper _introduction, Miss Bennet, but the problem with our situation is that nobody knows anyone here, and so one must make an effort to make friends rather than wait for someone to introduce one to anyone who looks vaguely interesting."

Mary laughed too. "That is quite allright, Miss Guildford, I perfectly understand. Rules of society must have an exception. You know, it is quite strange to come somewhere like this where I have been coming for a long time, and hardly knowing anyone. I should be glad to meet more people, for I cannot stand being a stranger."

"You must meet my family then!" said Miss Guildford. "Come, I will make you known to them, and then you must introduce me to your family."

Mary agreed, and they walked off. First Miss Guildford introduced Mary to her parents. "Mama and Papa, I want you to meet Miss Mary Bennet. These are my parents, Sir and Lady Guildford."

"Good evening, Miss Bennet!" said Sir Guildford, a friendly smile instantly springing to his face. "Are you the eldest daughter of Mr James Bennet who came to visit me last week?"

"No, not the eldest," Mary replied with a smile, "for my two elder sisters are married, but I am the eldest at home."

"Well, well!" said Lady Guildford. "I hope you and Annabel will be friends. You have lived at Longbourn all your life, have you not? Well, we already greatly enjoy the area, don't we, my dear?"

"I am glad," said Mary. "Hertfordshire is very pretty."

"And this is my sister Helena, and my sister Isabella," said Miss Guildford, impatient to continue with the introductions. "Helena, Isabella, this is Miss Mary Bennet."

"Good evening." The two sisters curtsied and grinned, both seeming to be very pleasant, if not the equals of Annabel.

"Pleased to meet you," said Mary cheerfully.

"I have a younger sister and brother," said Miss Guildford, "who I would introduce to you, but they are still at home, for they are not out yet. But I will introduce you to my brothers." They made their way across the room to where Miss Guildford's two older brothers were standing, talking to each other. "Desmond, John, this is Miss Mary Bennet. These are my two brothers, Mr Desmond Guildford and Mr John Guildford, Miss Bennet."

"Good evening, Miss Bennet!" said Mr Desmond Guildford excitedly. She was amused when she remembered her father's description of the man.

"Good evening, sir," she said.

"I have heard a lot about you," he said, smiling.

"Really?" she asked, amazed. "I have heard little about you. Where do you hear of me?"

"That's my secret," he said mischievously, tapping the side of his nose.

"Oh, please tell me!" she begged.

"Don't be foolish, Desmond!" scolded Miss Guildford. "It was the people at Netherfield, Miss Bennet, my brother knows them already."

"Oh," said Mary, suddenly remembering Mr Alcott's cruel words about her. She was quietened, but Miss Guildford took her arm and led her away from the two brothers, one of whom had not said a word.

"If we are to be friends, you must call me Annabel, Miss Bennet," said Miss Guildford.

"Then it follows that you must call me Mary," replied Mary, smiling back.

"Alright then - Mary! Is it agreed?"

"It is agreed - Annabel!"

They both laughed. It was at this point that Mary came face to face with one of the most handsome creatures she had ever seen in her life. She stopped, dead in her tracks, terribly afraid that her mouth was wide open or something foolish like that. He was tall and fair and he had such a face and such a physique that Mary couldn't quite pull her eyes off him. He had a unique combination of noble and good-humoured features, rendering him both distinguished and charming to look at, and he had an athletic, graceful build which filled out his elegant black coat perfectly. To add to this all, he had a kind, friendly air about him, especially obvious in his sparkling eyes, and it was impossible to think him proud or frightening, the latter of which might have been overwhelming because of his amazingly good looks, were it not for his eyes.

"Good evening, ladies," he said in a polished, deep voice with an appealing twinkle in his eye.

"Good evening," Mary squeaked.

He continued. "I have not been long in Hertfordshire, but I am already disposed to approve of it, what think you? This is a pretty, charming ball for the country."

"I have lived here all my life, sir," said Mary, determined to act sensibly and stop staring like a fool. She almost didn't notice Annabel slip away to procure herself a drink.

"Oh, have you?" he asked, interested, turning towards her.

"Yes, I have."

He gave her a smooth smile that almost made her choke, and it was impossible for her to smile back. She just stood, frozen like an idiot, or so she thought. "What is your name?" he asked in his mellow, smooth voice, motioning to the seat beside him.

She sat down. "I am Mary Bennet, sir."

"Oh, I met your father, I think. Is that so?"

"Yes, I think. He visited all the new families last week."

"Well, I am Trevor Newlands," he said. "I am the nephew of Sir Geoffrey Penfold, you know."

"Oh!" she said, suddenly noticing the lovely colour of his emerald eyes. "Yes, Papa told me about you."

"Oh, what did he say?"

Mary began to blush. What could she say? "He said you were very agreeable..."

"And what else?" he pressed, amused by the pretty little thing sitting by his side, so obviously not sure what to say.

Mary had never known such a mind blank for creative ideas. "He said - he said you were very handsome," Mary said in a rush, her cheeks warmer than she ever thought they could be.

"Oh..." he said, looking a little embarrassed by this revelation. But he saw the absurdity of the situation, and began to laugh, to her relief. "Well, I have heard about you, Miss Bennet."

"Oh? What did you hear about me?" she said with a smile.

He laughed. "Are you sure you want to know?"

She considered, her head to one side. "Yes. I want to know."

He found her quite charming. "I heard that you are very pretty..."

She stopped smiling, and only blushed, an almost frightened look on her face. "Oh?" she ventured.

"And," he plowed on ruthlessly, "I think it is safe to say that it is quite true."

She didn't know whether to laugh or blush more. She did both. "And who told you this, Mr Newlands?"

"Mr Alcott of Netherfield."

"Mr _Alcott_!?" she gasped, astounded. "Not he! He thinks me plain and dreary, I assure you!"

"You have met him?"

"Why, yes, he came to pay my father a morning visit with his friends."

"And so why do you think he thinks you 'plain and dreary?'"

She paused. "Well ... you see ... I overheard a conversation."

"Oh...!" he said, nodding. "Well, don't hold it against him, because for one thing, you are very pretty, and for another thing, he didn't mean a word of whatever he said, for he told me quite the opposite."

"But how very confusing!" replied Mary, wrinkling her brow. "To say such things of me, and then to say the opposite! Are you sure, Mr Newlands?"

He smiled. "Yes."

Mary recollected herself and thought of what this meant. Mr Alcott thinking she was pretty? She did not know what to think. How would she treat him next time she saw him? To her dismay, she saw him coming towards them at that moment. Despite herself, she caught her breath at the sight of his handsome face, and almost began to laugh as she thought how entirely unpredictable this situation would have been several months ago. She would have been sitting in a corner, a frown on her face, thinking how frivolous balls were, and blandly telling her sisters that she thought the rewards of observation and reflection were much greater than that of dancing. Mr Newlands would not have even noticed her, and certainly Mr Alcott wouldn't have even bothered making rude remarks about her - it would have been obvious to all how dull she was. She smiled slightly.

"Miss Bennet - Mr Newlands," said Mr Alcott, bowing. Mary curtsied back. She didn't know where to look, but when Mr Alcott did catch her eye, she took care to infuse a cold, indifferent air into it. He looked a little taken aback.

"Good evening, Alcott," said Mr Newlands. "You don't look especially bored. Is it possible that you are actually enjoying yourself?"

Mr Alcott looked emotionlessly at Mr Newlands. "It is a tolerable ball for the country."

Mr Newlands let out a crack of laughter. "Praise indeed! Miss Bennet, you had better not take Mr Alcott's statement at face value, for that is a great compliment on his part, if I judge him from my long acquaintance."

"You know each other well, then?" asked Mary, addressing herself solely to Mr Newlands.

"Yes, tolerably," said Mr Newlands.

"We box together, Miss Bennet," said Mr Alcott.

"Oh, how horrid!" she exclaimed. "I daresay you think it just a sport, but I find it impossible to understand how gentlemen derive the smallest satisfaction from hitting each other repeatedly!"

Mr Newlands laughed. "Rest assured, Miss Bennet, that we do not always socialise by doing that!"

Mr Alcott had an amused look in his eye that Mary did not quite like, and so she changed the subject without continuing to argue her point. "Do you gentlemen spend most of your time in town?"

"Yes," replied Mr Newlands, "but sometimes I stay with my other aunt in Sussex. However, those visits are usually short-stayed, for she has an avaricious temper that I cannot stand! Therefore-"

Mr Alcott interrupted him without ceremony. "Would you dance the next with me, Miss Bennet?"

Mary looked at him hard, trying to discern the expression in his eyes. However, the cool grey eyes gave away nothing. "I - I - don't know," she stammered. "I had not - I am not -"

"I believe the correct words are - I accept, Mr Alcott," he prompted her with a bow. She looked at him in astonishment, surprised at the bright twinkle in his eye.

"No, I believe they are not, in this case," she said coldly. "I thank you, Mr Alcott, but I am not inclined to dance."

"You are set down, Alcott!" laughed Mr Newlands loudly. "Now what shall you do? Get down on your knees and beg, man!"

Mr Alcott ignored Mr Newlands, and looked at Mary appreciatively. "Why is a pretty young woman who looks to be in perfect health not inclined to dance?"

"I don't know, sir," replied Mary sweetly, "but maybe you can understand why a common, vulgar girl with – what was it? – dreary looks and features is not inclined to dance?"

This time she had really surprised him. He almost jumped as understanding came into his eyes. She mentally congratulated herself.

"What's this?" said Mr Newlands, out of his depth. Mary kept her cold eye fixed on Mr Alcott for several moments until he began to look distinctly uncomfortable, and then she, weaker than she appeared, turned to Mr Newlands. "Oh, nothing of consequence," she replied.

She felt amazed at her own power. Mr Alcott looked decidedly uncomfortable, and she felt a new sense of potency that she had never known before. However, all this gave her was a overwhelming feeling of guilt. She knew at once that she really should forgive him. She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling a sudden headache.

"Are you feeling quite well, Miss Bennet?" asked Mr Alcott gently. She looked up at him, trying not to look confused. All she could find in his face was concern.

"I have a slight headache," she said quietly.

"Let me get you a drink, Miss Bennet," said Mr Newlands, "if you are feeling unwell. No wonder you are not inclined to dance!"

Mary sat quietly by Mr Alcott's side. He did not seem to know whether to say anything or not. Suddenly she blurted out, "Mr Alcott, I may have next to no redeeming features, but I am not mercenary."

"I believe you," he replied.

"I assure you that our garden was worked by myself, and I alone, with the exception of a manservant hauling in things that were too heavy for me to carry."

"You must let me explain," he said. "I think you neither common nor vulgar, neither twitty nor plain - certainly not that! I think you are very pretty."

"Please do not compliment me," she said coldly before he could continue.

"As you wish, ma'am, but do let me explain myself. I was in a foul mood, and my bad feeling was piqued by your smiles at my obvious bad attitude. The words came out of my mouth before I thought upon them. It was inexcusable of me, Miss Bennet, but I beg you will forgive me, for I have been wishing those words unsaid ever since."

Mary looked at him, surprised. "That was very prettily worded, sir."

"I flatter myself it was," he said gravely, but with a disarming twinkle in his eye, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Am I forgiven, then?" he continued.

"Why, of course not!" cried Mary. "However, if you grovel enough over the next few days, perhaps I shall consider forgiveness as an option rather than the more tempting choice of the guillotine."

He laughed out loud, shocking Mary. She had not thought it possible to make such a man as he laugh. At this point he seemed quite pleasant, and Mary could hardly imagine him as the man she had met just a few days ago.


	5. Chapter Five

Mary met so many people that evening. She met all of the Penfold family, whom she was introduced to by Mr Newlands, and found them pleasant enough, in general. Sir Geoffrey Penfold, the dream character of Mama's youth, was very friendly, conversable and cordial, and, of course, wildly handsome for a man of his age. His wife, Lady Penfold, was charming. She had kept many of her youthful features, and was a pleasant woman, if a little airy-fairy.

"May I introduce my aunt and uncle to you?" Mr Newlands had asked Mary. Her answer was obvious, and he proceeded to make her known to Sir and Lady Penfold at once. They had talked amicably on neutral subjects for several minutes until Mr Newlands saw fit to introduce her to his six cousins.

Miss Anthea and Miss Belinda Penfold were the two youngest of the Penfold's five children, and were standing by the fire looking on the rest of the room a little nervously.

"Cousins!" said Mr Newlands, striding across the floor to them. "May I introduce Miss Mary Bennet to you? These are my two cousins Miss Anthea Penfold and Miss Belinda Penfold."

They all curtsied and smiled at each other.

The two Penfold girls were the most happy-natured people Mary had ever met, barring perhaps her sister Jane. They smiled and joked all the time. The younger, Belinda, was louder and more vivacious than her elder sister, but Miss Anthea Penfold had more dry humour and was more dignified, in a way, although she certainly was very easygoing also. Mary enjoyed their society very much, and longed to introduce them to Annabel; she was sure the four would be good friends.

And then she was introduced to the famous Miss d'Arbre. Mary liked her quite a lot. Estelle d'Arbre was completely different to her cousins; quiet, poised, a little shy, serious. She spoke with sense and had some sort of innate calm that attracted certain people immediately, and did not fail to attract Mary. The one fault of Miss d'Arbre's that stood out above the rest was the coldness that Mary could detect in her eyes. She was not without compassion, but Estelle d'Arbre seemed to have no strong emotions. She was without passion of any kind. It made Mary a little uneasy. When Mr Newlands was looking for her to introduce her to Mary, Miss d'Arbre had been standing in the shadow of a curtain by herself, and had done so for the whole previous part of the evening. Mary thought she could see a flicker of relief in the girl's face when her cousin, Mr Newlands, led Mary towards her.

Sir Penfold's three sons wandered over while she was talking to Miss d'Arbre. They were handsome, though they paled in comparison to Mr Newlands, and all three of them very much like their father in mannerisms and personality. Mary was amused at the way the three brothers all agreed with each other, spoke the same way, ("I say, old chap, jolly good thing, wot?"), laughed the same way, (uproarious bellowing, slapping their thighs and each other's shoulders), and smiled the same way (an excessively good-natured beam which dimpled up their entire face). They were a cosmos apart from Mr Newlands, but the brothers and their cousin got on very well, like best friends, although Mr Newlands only smiled in an amused, superior way at his cousins' antics whenever they cracked an obscure and supposedly hilarious joke.

Mary met up with Kitty at some point, and they sat down on a handy sofa in the depths of the assembly room, glad to have a respite from socialising for a few minutes. Kitty was flushed and excited. Despite the fact that Kitty had changed after Lydia's removal from Longbourn, she still loved to be singled out and danced with, and to dance the first with Mr Hildesly gave her much satisfaction. She had danced the next with Jasper Nesbit, (she confided in Mary that she found him rather dull, although doubtless very worthwhile), and then Mr Hildesly had asked her to dance a second time! She was thrilled that he had so obviously chosen her out.

"Oh Mary!" she enthused. "He is exactly what a gentleman should be!"

Mary smiled wryly as she remembered overhearing almost exactly the same words on the tongue of her sister Jane. It pleased her that Kitty was turning out to have many of the same qualities as her gentle eldest sister. "Yes," she said calmly, "he is a very agreeable young man."

"Oh, Mary, how can you say such a thing!" scolded Kitty. "You know very well he is vastly agreeable, to say the very least! What are you smiling for now?"

Mary gave her an expressive, raised-eyebrow smile. _And there was something a lot like Lizzy! _she thought. "Nothing whatsoever!"

Kitty mock-punched her. "You are a rascal, Mary!"

Mr Alcott looked on from the side, a slight grin on his face. The two sisters presented a charming picture, laughing and play-fighting before hugging each other affectionately. He decided to try his luck while she couldn't possibly plead an indisposition, not after _that_ display!

"Miss Bennet?"

Mary looked up, an engaging sparkle still in her eye. "Oh! Mr Alcott!" He stood in front of her, and she couldn't help but think his appearance the epitome of any girl's dreams of a handsome, rugged giant.

"Are you still disinclined to dance, or may I have permission to pursue the matter of you dancing the next with me?" His eyes betrayed the grave tone he used, twinkling wickedly.

"Oh... why, yes, you may certainly ask me to dance with you," replied Mary, smiling.

"Would you do me the great honour of condescending to dance the next with me, madam?" asked Mr Alcott, making a sweeping bow.

"I should be delighted, sir," replied Mary, blushing but beaming.

"I am honoured, Miss Bennet," he answered gallantly. "And will you introduce me to your friend?"

"Of course. Kitty, this is Mr Alcott. Mr Alcott, this is my sister Miss Catherine Bennet."

He bowed again. Kitty smiled shyly, a little blown away by the weathered, handsome man before her. Mary found herself hoping that Mr Alcott would not be like Mr Hildesly in transferring his attentions to her younger sister - not that she grudged Kitty Mr Hildesly - no, not a jot! But did she grudge Kitty Mr Alcott? She felt a wave of fear. She didn't like him too much too soon, did she? From the moment he had shown himself to be respectful and kind, she had recognised him as the embodiment of a dream. But were dreams a sensible thing to embody? Mary knew she had to be careful.

As the previous dance finished, Mr Alcott took Mary's arm and led her onto the floor. His hand sent little shivers up her arm. "You aren't cold?" he asked. "You're trembling."

"Oh no!" she assured him. "I'm fine. However, I must warn you, I cannot dance at all well."

"Finally, a young woman like me!" he exclaimed. "I do enjoy dancing though; not because of the perceptible action, but for the society it provides."

She smiled. "Was that a compliment, sir?" she asked naively.

"Yes," he said, and hesitantly, "I only dance if it is with someone I - I actually - admire, so that I may be sure to have a pleasurable time."

Mary's consternation was obvious. "Oh..." she murmured.

The dance began, and she was able to move away from being in close proximity to him for a moment. The next time they joined together in the dance, she had recovered, and he spoke again. "I hear that the woman who married my friend Darcy is your sister?"

"Yes, Lizzy married Mr Darcy about a twelvemonth ago. Do you know Mr Darcy very well?" she replied.

"No, not well, but I know his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam very well."

"You have a wide acquaintance, Mr Alcott," commented Mary, "or so it seems." She had her eyes fixed on his waistcoat buttons, too bashful to look up into his eyes.

"Yes, a tolerable one," he replied. "I would dearly wish for you to be added to my acquaintance, Miss Bennet, but I fear my waistcoat will beat me to it." He smiled as she looked up at him, grinning despite herself. "It _is _a nice waistcoat, isn't it?" he added, pretending to be anxious, and she laughed out loud.

'_He looks so well when he smiles!'_ she thought, _'And he is so strong! His chest is so broad!'_ She had a sudden and desperate desire to lay her head on his chest, but with a blush and a quick shake of the head, she shook these discomforting thoughts out of her mind.

They did not talk for a little while, as the dance required them to part often, and they were both not experienced enough dancers to attend to both conversation, and dance steps.

Finally, the dance finished, and Mary was relieved. She had improved somewhat in dancing, but she had discovered extremely recently that all her new skills threatened to fly away when in the vicinity of Mr Alcott. He did not leave her, but led her to a sofa in the far recesses of the room. "And now we shall have some proper conversation!" he decided. "What think you?"

Mary held back a grin. "The discussion of the recent war holds much merit," she suggested blandly. "Unfortunately the weather in Hertfordshire is so settled of late that we cannot really discuss it. Have you any subjects to offer, sir?"

"Miss Bennet," he warned, "you know I was not talking of those types of topics! Here is a subject I would wish to discuss - tell me about your family and I shall tell you of mine."

Mary was surprised. She had never expected him to be even vaguely interested in any family of hers. "Oh! Well, my family, Mr Alcott! I have four sisters, as you probably already know - Jane is the eldest, then Elizabeth, then myself. Kitty comes next and the youngest is Lydia. Well, Jane is always the most beautiful of the family, and very sweet tempered, and so _good._ She always has a good thing to say of everyone, and is much loved wherever she goes. I must say that she is not at all priggish, for many people would think, from this description, that she is a bore, but she is most decidedly not one. I have nothing but good to say of her. She is married to Mr Charles Bingley, who used to rent Netherfield. Are you at all acquainted with him? No? He is a very good friend of Mr Darcy's, and Mr Darcy stayed there with him when they first came to Hertfordshire."

"So the men at Netherfield both married Bennets?" asked Mr Alcott, a strangely arrested expression on his face, and a slight smile on his lips.

"Yes..." said Mary, not quite liking the way the conversation was going. "Shall I tell you of Lizzy? She is a year older than me."

"Yes, by all means," said Mr Alcott, resolved to embarrass her no longer.

"Lizzy is the cleverest of us Bennets, I should think," began Mary. "She is beautiful also, but in a different way from Jane; she is dark and interesting, while Jane is fair and angelic. She is very witty, intelligent, and independent. She was my father's favourite, I think. She married Mr Darcy the same time as Jane married Bingley."

"And now you must describe yourself!" said Mr Alcott.

"Well, I can hardly do that!" protested Mary, laughing.

"Shall I?" he asked. "Here I go! Miss Mary Bennet is a young woman who, on first appearances, is very normal, although perhaps a little prettier than the average girl. But as you get to know her, you find that she is intelligent, modest, skilled, witty, interesting, enjoyable to be with, amusing, oh, and lovely! Her beauty grows on you too, until you are sure that you have never seen the like. She is-"

"Enough, sir!" interrupted Mary, her cheeks red. "Don't embarrass me so! You know you are heavily exaggerating!"

She was stunned when he took her hands and looked into her eyes seriously. "That I am not."

It took all of her self-control to look away. "I think I should tell you of Kitty now," she said quietly. It would have been funny under different circumstances.

"Maybe you should," he said, realising that he had hardly spent three hours in the company of the girl, and he had almost declared himself, before he had even thought, discernably, that he liked her as much as his instincts told him.

Now she faltered. It was hard to act as if nothing had happened. "Kitty is... a very agreeable girl," she began lamely, "although my father used to think her very silly. She has changed a lot, and it is now very enjoyable to spend time with her... and my youngest sister Lydia is married, to a man called George Wickham, who I am afraid is not the best of men. Lydia herself... well, she always was a silly, unthinking thing, and I fear she will not change. It is probably for the best that she does not live with us anymore, for her influence on Kitty was great. There, will that do?"

"Thank you for telling me of your family," said Mr Alcott gently. "I fear that I will not be able to tell you of mine tonight, for it seems that my party is leaving for Netherfield early, for some reason. May I - may I call on you soon to tell you of them?"

"Of course, sir," said Mary, smiling up at him a little nervously.

"Thank you for dancing and talking with me this evening, Miss Bennet," he said. "I have enjoyed myself immensely."

"As have I," she said quietly as he bowed before walking away. She sank down on the sofa and tried to gather her thoughts. What had just happened? Had she become scared, because someone had professed to admire her? She chuckled a little as she realised again how silly this situation would have seemed a little while ago.

Mrs Bennet was very satisfied with the evening, as was to be expected. "Oh! My dear Mr Bennet, it went off so well! I am sure I shall be lifelong friends with some of those dear new ladies! And the girls! Oh, Mr Bennet, they were so admired! Kitty dazzled so many of the young men, and, would you believe, danced twice with Mr Hildesly!! And with Mr Nesbit and Mr Guildford and even the young Viscount, my dear! And Mary - my dear Mr Bennet! Mary has quite impressed that Mr Alcott! He sat and talked with her for quite some time, and even danced with her, which I hear is quite unheard of for him to do! And Mr Newlands danced with her too, and Mr Guildford-"

"Mr Alcott, Mary?" frowned Mr Bennet. "Do you not find him as disagreeable as I do?"

"Father... he is not really like that," whispered Mary, a little embarrassed by her mother's boasting on her behalf.

"Really? Well," said Mr Bennet, raising his eyebrows. "Time will reveal all."

Mary could not sleep that night. Every few minutes she gave herself a shake, telling herself how ridiculous she was - why, she had only been in his company several hours, at the very maximum! - but the image of Mr Alcott holding her hand and looking into her eyes did come, and stayed, whatever she told herself. Finally, she dropped into a restless doze, dreaming things she felt she should not.

Miss Emma Nesbit was stunned to find Mr Alcott so angry because she and Mrs Milne had both got headaches, therefore obliging the party to leave. Never before had he apparently enjoyed what he might call an insipid little country party. She concluded it must be something else. Miss Nesbit proceeded to inquire warily what was the matter. "Mr Alcott, you are not yourself this evening... is everything all right?"

"I am quite all right!" he snapped, turning his head away from his friends to stare moodily out into the dark night.

"I am sorry if you were disappointed to be dragged away from the assembly..." she continued.

"It's nothing whatsoever to do with that," he muttered. "Don't trouble yourself, Emma."

She looked worriedly at him. Mr Nesbit just grimaced at her, motioning not to talk to him until he was somewhat more sociable.

"I saw that, Jasper," Mr Alcott growled. "I wouldn't, if I were you. I would like Emma to talk to me."

"Uh... what should I talk to you of?" asked Miss Nesbit.

"Did you meet Miss Mary Bennet?" he asked abruptly.

"Why, yes I did," she said. "Richard here introduced me to Miss Bennet and her sister."

"Did you like her?"

"Very much," replied Emma calmly. She was used to Mr Alcott's interrogations.

"Did you think her pretty?"

"Yes."

"In what way did you think her pretty?"

"Ummm... I thought she had rather pretty eyes?" replied Miss Nesbit, a little confused.

"Yes, yes," he mused. "And what of her lips?"

"Well-formed, sir."

"And what was your overall impression of her?"

"I thought her very pretty, Alcott."

"That is not an answer!" he snapped. "Use a different word from pretty."

"I thought her very attractive?" she said. "Dignified, graceful, sweet?"

"Yes, yes," he said again. "That she is. Thank you, Emma."

With this he turned to the window again, and pointedly ignored any more attempts at conversation for the rest of the ride back to Netherfield. As soon as the carriage stopped, he was off, and into the house, heading straight for his bedchamber without a word to anyone.

RESPONSE TO CRITIQUES…

Thank you very much for the helpful critiques, as always! Here's individual responses:

- Jack Robinson – _thanks for the comments. You always give such helpful but nice critiques!! warm fuzzies I definitely agree about the number of characters being ridiculous. There's more introduced in this chapter as well! I just don't like this story very much and I can't be bothered changing it like I should! And the whole Mr Newlands thing is just silly because I had no plans for him whatsoever in the rest of the story, but I think your suggestion of a scandal or whatever is a very good idea and maybe I'll change the story! So thanks for that!_

- Kat – _thank you very much; likewise with Jack's idea, a love triangle's a great idea! grins Some of my stories would be so bad if I didn't get ideas from the critics!_

- non-damsel – _Yes, Kitty is a much more promising character, I agree, and I have actually written a fanfic on her, simply called Kitty, which I quite like personally, if I do say so myself; it is on here somewhere. So have a look if you want! Sorry about the blatant advertising, but I'd much rather people read that fanfic than this one!_

- June W – _Sorry about the not-so-speedy updates. I've had an incredibly busy year. Hopefully next year will be a lot less busy, and I've just started the summer holidays, so look out for more! However, it's not so much that I haven't written the chapters (I've actually finished the story), it's that I don't like putting some of it up._


	6. Chapter Six

Mr Alcott stood at the door of the room quietly, smiling, watching Mary play the piano. She was lost in the flowing sonata, and the effect was something magical. After a while she finished the piece, gave a sigh, and sat at the stool for a few moments.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet."

She snapped out of her reverie. "Oh! Mr Alcott!" She quickly stood up and curtsied. "I did not expect to see you..." She looked down at the floor as she realised that - a) she had been counting down until she could reasonably expect to see him, and b) she was all alone with him.

He smiled. "May I sit down?"

"Of course," she said mechanically.

"I hope you are none the worse for your dancing last night?" he enquired, a slight smile on his face. "You did feel indisposed at one point."

She couldn't help but smile. "You, sir, are very rude!"

He grinned, his steely eyes becoming soft, and crinkling at the edges.

She continued. "But sir! You have called to fulfil your promise of telling me of your family."

"That I did," he agreed, "so I shall. My parents were Mr and Mrs Charles Alcott, but when I was young, my mother died and my father remarried later. I have two elder sisters named Elizabeth and Carmen, and my stepmother, who is now dead, bore my father a daughter, Margaret."

"So you are the only son?"

"Yes," he said. "My father's estate in Devon is entailed onto me. I should tell you, Miss Bennet, I have been married once before. My wife, Catherine, died several years ago, and I have a small daughter called Bianca. She is at this moment staying with my sister Elizabeth, but she will join me in Netherfield very soon."

"Oh, lovely!" said Mary. "How old is the little girl?"

"Nearly four," he said. "She was born only two weeks before my wife's death, and so she has never known a mother. It is something of concern to me." He paused, not looking at her, then continued quickly. "I shall tell you of my family. My eldest sister is married to a Lord Granger, with two sons. Elizabeth is, I feel, a very domineering sort of person, too interested in everybody else's business, I should say. But she is very loyal and dependable, and looks after my daughter often, and is, therefore, a very good sister. My sister Carmen is a widow, with one daughter, Joline. Carmen is excessively good-natured and kind. She always has a kind word for everyone. Carmen and I are probably very different, but we are very close, as she is close in age to myself. She often lives in my house in town, and I can't say enough good about her."

"She sounds a lot like my sister Jane," commented Mary.

"Yes, they do sound similar," said Mr Alcott thoughtfully. "That thought struck me when you were telling me of Mrs Bingley. And my younger sister Margaret! She is quite a lot younger than me; I think we are about thirteen years apart. I believe she is about the same age as yourself, or a little younger. Margaret is a very outgoing person, who can sometimes disgust me with her extravagance and cheekiness, but she has many admirable qualities hidden underneath, I suppose. There! That is my family! What shall we talk of now?"

But their conversation was not to be. Kitty ran into the room. "Mary! You must - oh! Mr Alcott! Please excuse me, but Mary! You must go to Father now, he has just received some dreadful news!"

"What, Kitty?" asked Mary, confused.

"Charlotte Collins took ill suddenly, and she has died!" cried Kitty.

Mary jumped up. "Truly?" She was shocked.

"Yes, it's true! Come now!" Kitty ran out the door.

"Excuse me, Mr Alcott, but I must leave you," said Mary hurriedly.

"Of course, Miss Bennet. I am very sorry. I shall leave."

Mary didn't stay to watch him leave, but ran out the door to her father's library, tears of shock already obscuring her vision.

He stood to watch her go, a slight frown on his face. What was happening to him? She was overcoming all his barriers, knocking down all his barricades... and all in a few days! Ever since Catherine's death, any female he met was pushed away - love had hurt him, and he did not want to ever be hurt again. But here was this Miss Bennet... her shy smiles, her clear eyes, her gentle remarks... they were travelling straight to his heart, it had been love, if not at first sight, then very soon after, and all of a sudden he didn't mind being hurt as long as she was in a position to hurt him. He decided to take a trip home for a week or so. He should tell his father what he was planning to do.

Another thought struck him as he left the house. What if she wasn't the one? What if this was just a silly whim that he would soon learn to see as a terrible mistake? His heart insisted against the notion, but his mind whispered warnings. Don't take it too soon, get time to know her, don't make an awful mistake, you've got all the time in the world, after all, she may not feel the same way about yourself, give her time.

So he strode home; determined not to even think of declaring himself for at least several weeks.

The funeral was to be held in Meryton, as that was where Charlotte had been brought up. Mr Collins travelled from Kent and arrived to stay at Lucas Lodge two days before the funeral. The death of his wife made him even more grovelling and obsequious than usual, and he came to visit his cousins at Longbourn gloomily attired in utter black from head to toe. Mary was obliged to entertain him for half an hour, and wondered how she could ever have admired the pompous man. She was shocked when she realised that he meant to transfer his affections to her, as he had done with Elizabeth all that time before, and quickly found something to do which justified calling Mr Bennet from his library to look after their cousin.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy travelled from Derbyshire for the funeral. Charlotte and Lizzy had been very good friends, and Lizzy was devastated at the loss. Jane and Bingley had wanted to come, but were unable to do so, because Jane was at a very advanced stage of her pregnancy.

The funeral was a particularly depressing one, with Lady Lucas' grief obvious to everyone as she wept for the second child she had lost in two months. The whole family's eyes were red and miserable, and even Mrs Bennet was moved to tears. (She had never liked Charlotte, as she had married the man that had first proposed to her daughter, Lizzy.)

However, Mrs Bennet recovered tolerably, enough to tell Mary to be as agreeable as she possibly could be to Mr Collins. By no means had she given up on having a daughter married to the man who would eventually inherit Longbourn. She encouraged Mr Collins daily, and Mary spent all her time trying to avoid him. She was very happy when it was finally time for him to return to his parish in Kent.

Mary, Annabel, Lady Selina Grayling, Anthea Penfold and Belinda Penfold had become very good friends. Mary felt awful about it sometimes, because Kitty had not really been that enthusiastic about them, and Mary could tell that she was a little jealous. However, she had made friends with Helena Guildford and Lady Valerie Grayling, and was still friends with Maria Lucas, and didn't seem to be too worried about Mary's friendship with the other girls. Elizabeth and Jane's wonderful relationship as sisters was one that had been formed over many years, and was very unique. Kitty and Mary had really only been friends for a few months, and still they had many differences, which annoyed them sometimes. So it was sometimes quite good not to be together all the time.

Mary had introduced Annabel to the two Penfold sisters at the ball, and the four had hit it off at once. Mary was so happy to find girls that she got along with so well, and had such a lot to talk about to. After the four girls had become acquainted, Selina had been introduced to them, and she had just enchanted them all straightaway, with her vivacity and charm. Lady Selina Grayling was a very desirable friend to have, in Mrs Bennet's eyes, only because she was the daughter of an earl, but in the eyes of Mary, she was one of the best friends a girl could ever find. It soon turned out that Selina and Mary got closer and closer until they had a relationship similar to what Jane and Elizabeth's had been. They told each other everything - Mary even told Selina her confusing feelings for Mr Alcott, and Selina told her that Mr Newlands had dazzled her outright, and she wasn't sure if she should be dazzled, and she hoped it wasn't just his good looks. Selina was around at Longbourn so often that Mr Bennet dryly offered her a bed, and to Mrs Bennet's matchmaking satisfaction, Mary was around at Ashworth so often that she was thrown into the path of the handsome, eligible Viscount a lot - Mary would never tell her mother this, for fear of repeated and prolonged torture by shrieks, but she did not like him very much. Mary liked the younger brother, Marlon, better. He was, as her father had said, excitable and adventurous, but he was so much more alive than the Viscount, who always seemed a little sleepy. The eldest, Lady Ada, did not gain Mary's good opinion either, just like she had not gained Mr Bennet's, but Lady Valerie was very likeable, although slightly immature. The old earl had tried to scare Mary at first, she suspected, but she had too sound a heart for that, and after he found he could not succeed, he showed himself to be very interesting and very good at story-telling. Mary liked Countess Grayling too. She was very young, but very forthright and dependable and strong.

The five friends went out on a picnic one sunny day. They each carried a basket or a blanket, and climbed Sycamore Hill. It was a lovely picnic; each girl's family cook had provided enough for the whole group, so they had nearly five times as much as they needed. They lay around on the grass under parasols, gossiping as well as discussing very serious things, or so they seemed to them.

"Girls," said Annabel solemnly. "I have something to tell you." She looked very grim, and her friends were worried.

"What is it, Annabel? Are you allright? What is it?"

She looked up to the sky, a serious look on her face. Then she burst out laughing, not being able to hold it in anymore. "I.. I think I must tell you that I like your brother very much, Anthea and Belinda!"

They laughed too. "Which one? You must be joking!"

"Not at all! It's James, if you must know... we... ahh.. I'm not quite sure how to say this..." broke off Annabel.

"You have an … understanding?" filled in Mary for her.

Annabel gave a red-cheeked smile. She shrugged. "Well - yes!"

The girls all started to laugh and tease Annabel, especially the Penfold sisters, and Mary lay back on the grass, her heart full. It was so lovely to be outside on a day like this, with people she liked very much, just talking and talking and learning to be a friend. She was amazed how different, how full, how delightful her life could be, once she had changed. Now she was left wanting only one thing...

"Mary," whispered Selina sometime later. The three other girls were dozing in the warm sun.

"Mmmhmmm..."

"I must have a word with you," Selina said urgently.

Mary sat up and yawned. "All right."

"Can we come away from here? I don't want the others to hear," she murmured.

Mary got up and followed her friend. They sat down by a hawthorn hedge. "What is it?" she asked, still rubbing her eyes.

"Mary," said Selina, still whispering, "I have heard some news about Mr Alcott."

"Mr Alcott?" asked Mary, waking up suddenly. "What is it?"

"I believe his father has died, and he has been obliged to go to Devonshire to sort out the will and everything!"

"Really?" asked Mary, shocked. "Oh, the poor man! I know he loved his father dearly."

"And that is not all!" whispered Selina. "The family is in a lot of grief at the moment, for his younger sister, Miss Margaret Alcott, eloped just before his death, and it is supposed that the news of her elopement brought on his heart attack! So, they are all in a quandary over what to do - accept the new Mrs Taylor home, due to the circumstances, and say no more about it, or refuse to see her again, because of the imprudent nature of her marriage, and the fact that it probably brought on Mr Alcott's death - you see, Miss Alcott married well below her station."

"Oh my!" cried Mary. "That is terrible, Selina!" She paused. "Do you think he will stay away for long?" she finished quietly.

Selina sighed. "I don't know. I was talking to Miss Nesbit yesterday, who told me of what happened, and she said that he sent word saying that he expected to be away for some time, sorting out the family affairs and staying with his sister during the mourning period."

"Oh," Mary said quietly.

"He mentioned you," said Selina, smiling a little.

"What?"

"In his letter to Mr Nesbit explaining his plans, he wrote - 'Mention me to all my friends - Miss Bennet, Mr Newlands, and so on'."

"Really?" said Mary, smiling shyly. But then she frowned. "I do not want to be his 'friend', Selina."

Selina laughed. "You could hardly expect him to say, 'mention me to my beloved,' could you?"

Mary laughed too. "No, I suppose not."

"Now!" said Selina imperiously, changing the subject. "What have you decided to wear to the next ball? I think we should go wearing matching clown suits. Mr Alcott is in Devon, and Mr Newlands in London for a week, so we have nobody to impress. Let us, do!"


	7. Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Good morning, Carmen," said Mr Alcott, coming through the door of the breakfast room. "Good morning, my little girl!"

"Father!" cried the tiny raven-haired girl excitedly, and ran around the table to greet him properly. She had not seen him for several weeks. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Bianca," he said, his face softening. "Very much so."

"Good morning, brother," smiled Mrs Carmen Durich. "I hope you slept well?"

"I did, Carmen," he smiled back. "Thank you."

"Have some breakfast," she advised him. "Now, brother, you have to tell me what has been going on in Hertfordshire. Your letters were abominable, and all you really told me was that you were staying with your friend, and that you had been hunting. What's going on, Matthew? Have you met a woman? You usually write so well."

"Carmen," he groaned. "You always see through me." He stopped for a moment. "Bianca, go and play now. Your aunt and I have something to discuss." The little girl skipped out of the room, her father's smiling eyes following her little form. "By the by, Carmen, where is Joline?"

"Oh, she is staying with friends at the moment. But there is no getting out of this, Matthew - explain yourself."

"Well," he said slyly. "What do you think I have been doing?"

Carmen smiled. "I think, Matthew, that you have been forming a new acquaintance - a new female acquaintance. The only other time you have ever been so vague in your letters is when you had first met Catherine. So, if I am wrong, tell me why, and if I am right, explain all."

Mr Alcott gave a wry smile. "Carmen, everyone thinks you are so kind and lovely - _I _know that you are very manipulative."

Carmen shrugged. "Tell all."

"Oh, well, you are somewhat right, I have to admit," said Mr Alcott hesitantly. He began to smile softly. "She's called Mary Bennet, and she is... she is lovely. Pretty, not really ravishing, I suppose, but she has this habit of growing on me so speedily that now I can hardly see any physical defects at all. She really is a lovely person, too, Carmen. So kind, thoughtful, sensible, clever, independent, secretly stubborn, caring... she seems to care what happens to the whole world, so unlike every other person I have met in her station and above. I don't know, Carmen, I think I fell for her right from the beginning." He sighed. "I never got to tell Father of her."

"Well," said Carmen softly. "I think you had better marry her. Bianca needs a mother. Oh, I know you would never marry just to secure a mother for your daughter, but I know you would never marry anyone who wouldn't be good to her."

Mr Alcott nodded. He had a frown on his face, and he was looking intently at the ground. "I can't marry her now," he said. "Father has just died."

"Well, wait," Carmen said. "If she loves you, she will wait. You had better go back soon though - with Bianca - and start courting her in earnest."

"I hate the gossip in a small town, Carmen. I should much rather be subtle, so that only she knows it."

"Well, as long as she knows it, that's all right," retorted his sister. "You must not leave her in any doubt of your affection, or she may become dejected, and you don't want that."

Mr Alcott smiled. "You are a terrible matchmaker, Carmen. I had forgotten what you were like; you acted like this with me when I first met Catherine."

Carmen smirked. "It's because I love you, brother."

He raised his eyebrows. "Of course. You don't derive any feminine enjoyment from it at all, do you?"

Carmen laughed, delighted. "You see through me just as well as I see through you, don't you, Matthew?"

So when Mr Alcott came back to Netherfield, he began to court Mary Bennet in earnest. However, he was careful not to show anyone but the female in question that he favoured Miss Bennet above any other woman. As he had said, he hated small town gossip. Therefore, at balls, he danced more than was comfortable for him so that it did not look like he was singling her out when he danced with her. He visited other families just as often as the Bennets, although he would much rather be at Longbourn, despite Mary's vulgar mother. He spoke to her in company only as much as he would speak to a good friend, which meant that Mrs Bennet began to despair of ever securing him for her daughter. Mary just smiled when her mother moaned over her ill success with Mr Alcott. She knew what he was doing, he made that obvious to her. Every day, Mary went on walks in the woods round Longbourn area. Every day, Mary met Mr Alcott, who came riding through the woods around Longbourn area. Ever since he had discovered she walked this track, he had come, at the same time, and ever since she had met him here, she had never felt tempted to change her direction or time of walks.

He would get off his horse one day, she dreamed as she walked along one day, and come up to me with eyes burning. He would take my hand and kiss it, and then he would say what I have been longing him to say for what seems a century now, and then he would take me in his arms and -

"Miss Bennet?"

She jumped out of her daydream, and spun around. She smiled softly when she saw who it was, and when Mr Alcott saw the look in her eyes, he would have thrown propriety to the winds, and proposed then and there if he had not been so level-headed. "Mr Alcott," she said, "good morning."

"What a surprise it is to see you here again," he said, getting off his horse, and leading it over to where she stood. "How is it that we always meet each other here?"

She blushed. "I do not know, sir. It must be coincidence."

"Maybe it is," he said in a low voice, as if the trees had ears, "and maybe it is by design."

Before she had a chance to feel embarrassed, he took her arm gently, and led her to the stream. She sat down on a stump, and he sat on the grass beside her. They were silent for a moment, and then Mary spoke. "The stream is so beautiful," she whispered. "Look at it - it just glides along, whatever is happening in the world. There could be a war on the banks of it, and still it just burbles along. It is an interesting concept, isn't it? Whatever happens to us, God's world is just going to keep going, until the end. It's comforting, but humbling at the same time."

"Miss Bennet," he said, gazing at the river, "you have spoken true." He paused. "You are not like other women, Miss Bennet."

Mary smiled. "I do not think any woman is like other women."

He shook his head. "I do not think I have met any woman who is more than you, Miss Bennet."

She looked away, laughing. "You will be encouraging me to think too well of myself, Mr Alcott."

He carried on. "Have you read the book of Proverbs?" He started to softly quote the Bible. _"Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all. Charm is deceptive, beauty fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate."_

Mary looked at him seriously. "I do not pretend to have all the qualities mentioned in that section of the Bible, sir."

"Oh, but you revere God," he said. "It is true, you do. Miss Bennet - Mary, you refreshing, truthful jewel! I... I would..." He cut himself off, and looked away. He could not do this yet.

All was quiet between them, but all was not awkward. Mary's heart was throbbing louder and faster than she thought it ever could, but she felt like she was sitting where she belonged – where she was meant to be. Mr Alcott stood up. He stood in front of Mary for a moment, and then took her hand. "Miss Bennet, I would wish you to understand that if I could... I would be down on one knee-"

"But you cannot, sir," interrupted Mary quickly.

"No, I cannot," he said. "But as soon as it is-"

"Don't say any more, sir," she said. She looked away from his searching eyes.

"Very well," he said. He bowed. "Good afternoon, Miss Bennet."

"Good afternoon."

Mary was sure she could not breathe as he walked away towards where his horse stood patiently, tethered to a tree. She only dared to take one deep breath as she finally could no longer hear the clopping of horse hooves. "Well!" she said aloud. She was sure this meeting would sustain her through all Mama's repeated agonies over her ill hopes for Mary ever catching that Alcott.


	8. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

Luckily for Mrs Bennet, respite from Mary's unsuccessful love life came in the form of Mr Hildesly. The gentleman, who had for some time been growing more particular in his attentions to Kitty, finally popped the question one day, when Mrs Bennet had successfully managed to organise with some skill a private meeting between the two. Kitty, who had been steadily becoming more and more in love with Mr Hildesly since their first meeting, was overjoyed, again reminding Mary of Jane, in her reaction to Mr Bingley's proposal. Kitty was breathless and radiant, and Mr Hildesly was thrilled, and the looks they cast each other would have made Mary very jealous if she had not had the quiet knowledge of another certain gentleman's regard for her. Mr Bennet was very happy that his second youngest daughter had acquired enough sense to attract and be attracted by such a good man as Mr Hildesly, and obviously, Mr Hildesly had enough fortune to make Mrs Bennet ecstatic - four daughters married! And Mary - she was almost as thrilled for Kitty as she would have been for herself. The two sisters had grown very close, and the hugs and tears they shared that evening were truly reminiscent of Elizabeth and Jane.

Another joy for the family came with the birth of Jane and Bingley's first child - a buxom, beautiful baby boy christened Charles Darcy Bingley. Both mother and child were well. Jane was in Derbyshire, and Mrs Bennet longed to see her first grandchild, but the visit had to be put off until a later date, for various reasons.

Unfortunately for Mary, however, Mrs Bennet no longer had to connive and organise for Kitty and Mr Hildesly - her whole attention was fixed on her middle daughter, and on getting her a husband. She sent Mary around to Lady Selina's house as often as she could, to get her seeing the handsome and eligible Viscount as much as possible. Mary didn't mind this so much, for she could see Selina, but her mother's other methods were not so subtle, and she blushed when they were in public, much as Lizzy had done several years before.

And still Mary managed to get out on her walks every day. Her father, who had slightly more intellect than her mother, noticed that Mary was going out for a walk every day at the same time, and wondered where.

"Only through the woods," was her answer.

"Every time?" he said shrewdly.

Mary could not help but blush a little. "I like the woods," she said defensively.

Mr Bennet let it go, but he wondered what his daughter was up to.

This time, Mary saw, in her mind, Mr Alcott coming up to her on his grey horse, the one called Elf. He slid off, and came up to her with the same fire in his eyes she always saw. "Mary," he said, "I am going to take you away with me. We will run from the world and never be seen again, and all we will need is each other." Then he would help her onto his horse and climb up behind her, and as they galloped off, he would lean down and-

She frowned as she realised that it was starting to rain. She was a long way from Longbourn, and Mr Alcott had not found her today. She wondered where he was, and looked up at the sky through a clearing in the canopy of trees. To her horror, the sky was black, and she could hear thunder, not too far away, and occasional flashes of lightning. She picked up her skirts and began to run, but it was too late; the cloud broke, and the raindrops pelted down like buckets. Very soon she was wet to the skin, her white garments utterly transparent, and the only intelligible thought in her mind was that she hoped Mr Alcott would not find her looking like this. She ran on and on, but when she thought about it, she realised that she was more than twenty minutes walk from Longbourn. However was she to make it home soon? But she kept running, as the sky grew blacker, and the rain grew denser, and the air grew balmier, until she hardly knew where she was running. She ran, and ran, and jumped, and could hardly see through the strands of soaking hair loose over her face. Crash! Suddenly the ground loomed up close to her as her foot caught on a root, and she landed on the ground in a pile. She tried to move, but she could not, and the darkness was closing in on her until she could see no more than the wild murmurings of her brain. She lay there for she knew not how long.

Mr Alcott almost galloped through the wood. Where was she? Where was she? She must be somewhere, for he knew she was not at home, and she could not be left out in this weather. The change had been alarming indeed, one minute, it was sunny and clear and warm, and the next, the storm was closing in on them. He did not notice the mad rain as he drove his horse on through the wood, on and on and on, until he suddenly stopped. A wet figure was lying by the side of the path.

With a jump in his heart, he threw himself off the horse, and ran to the drenched figure, lying face down on the ground. "Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet!" he cried, shaking her. "Can you hear me?"

He was relieved to hear an audible groan, and rolled her over onto her back. She was dripping with water and mud, and her eyes were half shut, her mouth open. She was saying something. "Where is he? Where is he?" she muttered. "Oh, I want him!"

He swiftly picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he walked over to his horse, mercifully standing still in the middle of the path. He had forgotten to tether it to something, and it could have run off. He laid her down again for a minute, took off his coat, and wrapped it round her shivering body, trying not to notice the soft skin that was visible through the wet garments. For a moment after he had picked her up, he stood with her, stroking her cheek, caressing within himself the feeling of holding her.

She opened her eyes. "It is you," she said listlessly. "Oh, I am so glad! You're here!"

He smiled. "Yes, I am, and I won't go away."

She smiled, and closed her eyes again, and he started walking, leading his horse along beside him, and not once did he feel tired - she was truly a light burden, he thought.

Longbourn was in an uproar. Mary caught out in the rain, and soaked to the very bone, most likely! Mrs Bennet was in high nerves. Mr Bennet did not say much, but he looked out the window almost every minute and had a very worried expression on his face, checking his watch all the time. Mr Hildesly, who was visiting Kitty, looked grave, and offered to go and look for her, but just as he was about to leave the house, Kitty peered through the window.

"It is Mr Alcott!" she squealed. "He's carrying Mary!" With a gasp, she grabbed the blankets they had ready, warmed by the fire, and rushed out the door into the rain, despite her beloved's entreaties. She sprinted up the driveway to where Mr Alcott was striding along, carrying his precious burden. "Mr Alcott!" she gasped. "Put these around her, quick!"

Between them, they got Mary into the house and laid her on the sofa, while Mrs Bennet was threatening to go into spasms, screeching for Hill, and while Mr Bennet and Kitty were carefully wrapping more garments around Mary. "She'll have to get her wet clothes off," said Kitty. She looked up at Mr Alcott, who seemed to have a very commanding presence in the situation. "Mr Alcott - will you carry my sister upstairs?"

"Certainly," he said, and proceeded to lift her up. "I am sure she will be fine, with care," he said. "She spoke to me before."

"Oh, thank goodness!" cried Kitty. He carried Mary through the door to her room and laid her gently on her bed. "Thank you, Mr Alcott," said Kitty.

"I am honoured to be of service," he said, stepping back through the door and down the stairs. At the bottom of them, he met Mr Bennet, who came up to him with an anxious and serious look on his face. "I must thank you from the bottom of my heart, sir," said Mary's father. "If you had not found her..."

"It is quite all right, sir," replied Mr Alcott. "I am glad I happened to be in the woods."

Mr Bennet did not make the connection between that statement and what he had been wondering lately, luckily for Mr Alcott, who really did not want people's expectations raised at that particular time. And Mr Alcott left the house, but he did not leave the grounds before standing a while, looking at the flickering lights in what he now knew to be Mary's bedchamber, remembering her soft skin, and her voice saying, "I want him so much!" and then, "Oh, I am so glad! You're here!"

He clambered onto his horse, and set off at a brisk trot for Netherfield. A smile played on his face the entire way there, despite his sodden garments and dripping hair.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet," said Mr Alcott, taking off his hat as he stepped into the sitting room. Mary was lying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. She beamed when she saw him, and if it was possible, her eyes looked even more gentle than ever.

"Good morning, sir," she said. "I am told I have much to thank you for. I do not remember a lot of what happened yesterday, but I do know you have done me a great service. Thank you."

He sat down beside her, smiling. "I hope you are feeling better?"

"I am," she said, "although I have a slight headache."

"Have you seen the doctor?"

"Yes, Dr Walsh came to visit yesterday afternoon. He says there is no real danger."

"I am glad," he said, and then whispered, leaning over her, "_immensely _glad. What I would have felt if you had been badly injured!"

He straightened up quickly as Kitty came into the room. "Why, good morning, Mr Alcott!" she said.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet," he said, smiling, and reaching out to shake her hand. "I did not get to talk to you as I would have wished yesterday. My congratulations on your engagement to Richard!"

Kitty blushed and smiled. "Thank you, sir."

"I am sure you will be very happy."

"I will, I am sure," agreed Kitty. "And thank you, sir, for your service to Mary yesterday. I cannot help but wonder what would have happened if you hadn't found her."

He bowed. "I did no more than my duty, Miss Bennet."

Kitty smiled at Mary. "I will go and fetch your food, Mary."

As she left the room again, he smiled down at Mary. "I have to go to London as soon as I leave you, Miss Bennet."

"You have to go?" she replied, the disappointment obvious in her voice. "Will you be back soon?"

"As soon as humanly possible; it will be just a matter of days," he said. "I cannot stay away from my delightful ruby long."

She smiled, blushing. "Who do you mean, sir?"

He tapped the side of his nose, grinning. "You may find out one day - hopefully very soon."

She grinned as he left the room, turning to smile at her as he closed the door.


	9. Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Mr Collins was back at Longbourn. Mary spent all her time trying to get out of his way, which wasn't easy, as her conniving mother insisted she wasn't well enough to move from her couch in the sitting room. He would sit there, prosing on about anything and everything, but especially Lady Catherine de Bourgh, secure in the knowledge that Mary was enjoying every titbit he could think of to amuse her. Sometimes, she cleverly managed to retire to her room, but she so tired of lying on her bed pretending to sleep that sometimes she thought she would rather be downstairs talking to Mr Collins, until she went downstairs and had to bear talking to Mr Collins. She knew his intention, and her mother knew it, and her mother was not going to waste an opportunity of getting her daughter married, and therefore, Mr Collins and Mary were left alone as much as possible.

Finally, it was two days after he had arrived, and Mary was enduring Mr Collins' conversation as much as possible, when he suddenly stood. He cleared his throat and shut the door, and began. "My dear cousin Mary," he said, "you can hardly doubt the reason for my being here. Your natural intelligence makes this certain. I have returned to Longbourn to search for a wife. And my dear cousin Mary, you have fulfilled every expectation I had of you. As soon as I had the pleasure of meeting you again, I knew you were the woman who was created for myself alone – I should say, one of the woman, for as you know, I was married to my dear Charlotte, but I am sure you are more than able to take her place. Your genteel and polite nature cannot help but make you acceptable to my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and her sanction would be the only thing wanting for my domestic bliss if I had not already asked for it. I told her of you, and of your excellence, and do you know, can you imagine, she told me to marry you, for, she said, that you seem, without a doubt, completely suited to be my wife! Imagine such condescension! And so, my dear cousin, I may lead you up to the altar without any doubts on that score."

"Mr Collins!" gasped Mary. "I assure you, if I were to marry you, I would not feel at all worried about what Lady Catherine thought, but sir, you forget I have not made my reply yet! I thank you, very much, for your proposal. I am very much honoured, sir, but I cannot marry you!"

"My dear cousin Mary!" beamed Mr Collins. "You are, no doubt, worried that your parents will not give their consent. Do not worry yourself on that score, for I have consulted both of them on the point, and they give their consent heartily, in fact, they both say they would advise you very strongly to accept."

"_Both _of them!" whispered Mary. Her father could not have done so!

"Yes, of course!" beamed Mr Collins.

"Excuse me, sir," said Mary, her face white, "I must go and speak to my father."

"Of course, my dear."

Mary rushed into the library. "Father!" she said. "Mr Collins doesn't mean it, does he!"

"I'm sorry, my dear?" said Mr Bennet. Mary thought she could see a trace of consciousness in his face though.

"You did not give your sanction for my marriage to Mr Collins, did you?"

Mr Bennet sighed. He carefully sat down his book. "Sit down, Mary," he said carefully. "Now, child, I fear for you. You are not the type to attract men, and so far, as far as I know, you have not. Mr Collins may be a very silly man, but he has a secure life, with the promise of plenty. All I want for you is to be safe."

"With Lizzy it was different!" Mary blurted.

"With Elizabeth it was. I did not realise the extent of my foolishness in not saving for my children then. I feel bound to make sure you are provided for, Mary. And my dear - Elizabeth was different. I could feel certain that she would find someone later, and she did. But you..."

"You think I will never make anyone fall in love with me..." Mary said blankly.

Mr Bennet looked at her sympathetically. "Look, Mary, _I_ know you are a good girl, but men don't look for good girls with no riches."

"But you will not make me marry Mr Collins!"

He looked down at his hands. "I will not be able to... force you," he said carefully, "but Mary, if you do not, things may be very uncomfortable for you here."

She stood up, pushing the chair back abruptly. "Father!"

He avoided her eyes.

"You loved Lizzy; you didn't make her marry that.. that... idiot!" she said. "Do you love me?"

"Of course, of course," said Father uncomfortably. "And that's why I must insist on you marrying Mr Collins, Mary."

Mary sat down again. "Father..." No, she could not tell him about Mr Alcott. That was impossible. All she could do was wait. She didn't know what would happen. "I.. I suppose I have no choice."

She stood up. She walked out of the house. She started to run, run, run, as fast as she could, behind the house, down to the woods. She didn't stop running until she came to the river where she had sat with Mr Alcott only a week or so ago. And Mary started to cry. What was happening? How could her own father do this to her? She thought she had known him, and now he did something so completely unlike that image she had had of him. She had thought he would positively beg her not to marry someone like Mr Collins, and now he was making her do so! She tried to wipe away the tears, but they would come, and she couldn't do anything about them.

And then she heard the voice she had longed for the most ever since she had left the house. "Miss Bennet, I had hoped I would find you here." It was him. She didn't turn round, and he came walking round the stump to look at her, wearing a kind smile. His smile soon turned to shock. "My dear Miss Bennet, what is the matter? What's wrong?"

Mary sobbed harder. She tried to explain, but all she could come out with was "My father..." and then she burst into tears again.

"Your father? He is well?" probed Mr Alcott, a very concerned look on his face.

Mary nodded. She wiped her tears away resolutely. "Forgive me," she sobbed. "Forgive me."

He took her hand. "Don't distress yourself, Miss Bennet, please don't. If you will, tell me what is wrong. I will do anything to help you!"

She slowly took some deep, calming breaths. "Mr Alcott... my father and mother - they have made me very upset... I do not think you have met my cousin Mr Collins?"

"No, never," replied Mr Alcott.

"Well, he is a block!" said Mary vehemently. "An absolute idiot. Obsequious, grovelling, full of self-consequence, _abysmally_ foolish, and... and... unctuous!"

"I see," said Mr Alcott, secretly trying not to smile.

"He has made me an offer of marriage," Mary said, and was pleased to see Mr Alcott's sudden look of anger. "My parents insist on my accepting it. I thought my father would not, because he would not allow my sister Elizabeth to marry him two years ago, but they think that I... that I cannot attract any other man and so I should accept the first offer that comes my way! You know from my description of him that it is absolutely out of the question to marry such a dolt, but my parents see differently, and they will force me to marry him!"

Mr Alcott was breathing hard. "Miss Bennet, I agree with you that it is utterly impossible for you to marry such a man... you would be disgustingly wasted, and I cannot countenance such an idea, it is fully repulsive to me! I could not bear to see you... you! With such a man! With any man, in fact," he said quickly, "but especially with a man such as you have described, and I assure you that I will do anything in my power to stop you being forced into such a match!"

The look Mary gave him positively melted his heart. "You will!"

"Miss Bennet," he said, and sighed. "Mary." He said her name so softly, so intimately, that Mary felt a delicious chill running up her spine. "I think it is time to be entirely open with how I feel about you." He looked at her. "Never," he said, breathing hard and fast, "have I loved anyone the way I love you."

Mary gave a little gasp. Her chest was going up and down too.

"When I am with you," he said, "I just..." he shrugged. "I am happier than I have ever been before. I cannot imagine living my life without you. I think you all things good, you are the light of my life. You are kind, you are good, you are enchanting, you are delightful, you are honest, you are artless. You do something to me, Mary, inside my soul, you make me feel so..." He gave a helpless little shrug. "I love you, Mary."

It was so beautiful that Mary could only stare. She gripped the hand that had somehow found its way into hers, and realised that he was on his bended knee.

"Do you think... do you think you could ever love me back, my darling?" asked Mr Alcott nervously. It was so unlike him to act anxious that she nearly laughed.

Mary looked at him, her eyes alight. "Sir... I... I do not know what to say.. I have not been in this situation.. oh goodness, what can I say but that I love you with all my heart, sir?"

"Don't call me sir, but we can sort that out later, you love me!" said Mr Alcott eagerly.

Mary smiled. "Yes, I love you, you goose!"

She was swept into his arms, his lips pressed firmly against her hair. She clung to him, feeling his strength. She could only compare the feeling to that of arriving home after an interminably long journey, and it outweighed that by far. "My love!" he murmured. "You are my fairy, you know that?"

Mary giggled lightly. He held her at arm's length, searching her happy features. "You are happy!" he said. "And so am I! And we will be all our lives, my angel!" And then he pulled her to him, and lowered his mouth to hers mercilessly, and didn't let go until she was gasping for breath.

"Now, my love," he said, leading her over to a comfortable patch of clover. "What are we to do? You know I cannot marry you, or announce our engagement, for at least another month. As much as I want you now, it just wouldn't be proper. I'm afraid we will have to wait, but what to do about this Mr Collins?"

"You can't talk to Father?" asked Mary.

"No, my love," he said, seriously threatening Mary's calmness with his endearment, "I can't. Your father is a man of honour, and once he has promised you to Collins, I doubt he will recant. It's going to be complicated getting you out of this, but I think I may have an idea. You may have to escape to London for a few weeks, my love."

She gasped. "London?"

"Yes," he said. "You obviously can't stay with me there, so do you know anyone who will support your cause?"

Mary thought hard. Then she had a brainwave. "Lizzy! Lizzy and Mr Darcy are in London at the moment! My sister will support my cause, because she knows how impossible it is to marry him, he asked her several years ago, you see. And if she knows about you... It's just going against Father that she might find hard to do. She has a great respect for him. But we could try her."

"If she doesn't want to help you, Mary, you can stay with my sister Carmen; she will welcome you with open arms," said Mr Alcott.

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Mary - firstly, I am sure, Carmen knows all about you, I told her everything when I last went to London, and it is a great wish of hers to meet you, and secondly, my name is _not _sir! Please - call me Matthew!"

"Matthew?" Mary was stunned. "I can't call you Matthew!"

"You already have now - twice."

"Matthew..." she said, smiling. "I love you, Matthew."

He smiled, and pulled her to him again, kissing her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. When they finally parted, he spoke again, if a little dazedly. "Mary... you will have to go back to Longbourn today, and act like you don't mind too much. Don't act happy, because your father is a shrewd man, and will see through that directly, but pretend you've thought it over, and have decided it to be your only option. Tomorrow, act the same. And then on Thursday, we will act. You write a letter to your parents, explaining that you have gone because you cannot marry him. Now, this is very important - do not mention me. Let them believe you have some friends who don't want to see you unhappy, and they will think of Lady Selina Grayling or someone. Leave the house very early in the morning, let us say about three o'clock. I will have a carriage waiting by the Longbourn gates. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, I think so," nodded Mary, who had been nodding all throughout his little speech. "But sir - I mean, Matthew - if you take me with you, everyone will know who has taken me, if you are the only person in the neighbourhood who is leaving at three o'clock in the morning on Thursday."

"You're right, my darling." He thought for a moment. "I know. I will go to London tomorrow. I will leave my groom behind, to follow with my carriage the next morning. No one else will know, but he will pick you up early in the morning, and then return to Netherfield, not leaving until six in the morning. He will leave you... in the inn in Haverfield, where no one knows you, and then pick you up again when he leaves at six. Allright?"

"So," said Mary uncertainly, "I will sneak out of the house at three o'clock, leaving the letter for my parents, with a valise of clothes and other things?"

"Yes, that's it," he said, giving her a big smile. He carefully continued. "I understand it may be hard for you to leave Longbourn... will you manage?"

"Do you love me?"

"With all my heart," he said emphatically.

"Then I will be fine," she said, "and I must go now." She stood up.

"Wait a moment," he said, kissing her gently on the lips again, stroking her hair. He finished with a flourish. "There. I will be seeing you soon. My groom will bring you to my house, and then I will take you to see your sister."

"Goodbye," said Mary. "I love you so." She walked away from the spot, almost walking on air, before she remembered she had to look unhappy to a degree. But she couldn't help being happy, and she skipped home, only putting a dismal look on her face when she entered Longbourn.

"Mary!" said Mr Bennet. "We had quite given you up."

"I have been thinking about it all, Father," said Mary, gravely. "I have come to the conclusion that perhaps it is the best thing for me to do, to marry Mr Collins." It took all her self-control to utter those words without bursting out in a crack of laughter.

"I am glad, my dear," said Mr Bennet. "You know I do not want to see you unhappy, and I am happy you came to this decision by yourself. Come and greet your fiancé."

Mary almost choked as she was greeted by the oily Mr Collins, who grabbed her hand and kissed it rather romancelessly.

_If you liked this chapter (even if you didn't!), come and check out some original fiction and poetry at an e-zine myself and some other writers have created: _

_www. halfwaydownthestairs. net! We've put a lot of work into it and had a lot of fun, so it would be great to get any comments on it. We also accept outside submissions for our next publication. _

_See you there!_

_Also, have a look at my new fanfic on here: _The Bennets—A Prologue, _which is a story about what I imagined up when I wondered what Mr Bennet and Mr Collins' father argued about in the first place._


	10. Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

The next day was torture for Mary. She was extremely thankful that her engagement to Mr Collins was not announced yet, or it would have made her father's position so much worse, but the rest of the time she was miserable. Her mother was so happy, and as much as she disliked some of her mother's habits, Mary did not want to make her sad. It was even more so with her father. Her father wasn't exactly satisfied to see her marry a fool like Mr Collins, but he was pleased that he had made sure that all his children were provided for now. Mary hated to displease him. Kitty was disgusted by her parents forcing Mr Collins on Mary, and she was a source of comfort for Mary - one person, at least, would not be displeased with her to find she had fled. And she had to bear Mr Collins all day, talking about the sons they would have, how Lady Catherine would deign to visit her, and how he was sure she would be a conformable wife. She shuddered to think what might happen if her plan for escaping did not work.

That evening before she went to bed, she gave Kitty an especially big hug, she tried to be very helpful to Mama, and she kissed Father on the head. She hated what she had to do to them, but she comforted herself all the time with the thought of Mr Alcott, and she knew that her parents shouldn't have done to her what they did. It was wrong to force your child into marriage, however good it must be for them, and she vowed she would never do the same to any of her children. Then she had the pleasant idea that Mr Alcott and she might have children, and smiled for the rest of the evening, which made Mr Bennet relax somewhat. He had been afraid that Mary would be dejected, but she seemed to be far from it.

Mary went to bed rather later than usual. Instead of blowing out her candle straight away and going to sleep, she quietly went round her room picking out necessities for London. She packed as much as she could into a small valise - clothes mostly, but she couldn't leave behind her Bible, and she sneaked in some treasures. The thought came to her that if she didn't take what was most important to her, she might never see it again, and she had to sit down for a minute with that realisation, and gulp a little. She didn't want to leave Longbourn, but it seemed it was necessary, if she wanted to find love with Mr Alcott. With this thought she steeled herself, and continued packing.

To her horror, Kitty slipped into her room at midnight. "Mary!" she whispered. "What are you doing?"

Mary was terrified. If she was caught by her parents, all would be lost. "Kitty, please don't tell!" she whispered furiously. "I am leaving! I cannot marry that man!"

To her surprise, Kitty gave a grin. "Good on you! Don't worry, I won't tell our parents. But where are you going, Mary?"

"To London," she whispered. She blushed. "I should tell you... Mr Alcott and I.. we're.."

"In love?" asked Kitty.

She nodded.

"Yes, well, I had always suspected that," said Kitty. "Mary, whatever happens, do follow your heart! Mama and Father are very wrong to force Mr Collins on you like this, and don't ever feel you're in the wrong, all right?"

Mary smiled at Kitty. Right then, she loved her so much. She hurried over to her to give her a hug. "I will miss you a lot."

Mary was surprised to see tears in Kitty's eyes. "I will miss you too. But I will know you are happy. And don't worry, I never had this conversation with you. Tomorrow morning, I know nothing."

"Thank you, Kitty. You are so dear to me."

"Good night, Mary. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Mary shed a few tears at this point. It was to be expected. She felt she had one of the dearest sisters in the world, (who would have expected this a few years ago?), and she didn't know when she would see Kitty again. At least once Kitty was married Father couldn't stop her seeing Mary, if he wanted to. But Mary calmed down after a while, and started writing the letter.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_By the time you read this, I will be gone. I am sorry for any_

_pain to inflict upon you, but I cannot marry Mr Collins. I would_

_be terribly unhappy all my life, and although I know you just want_

_to secure a safe home for me, I cannot do it. I have some good _

_friends who do not want to see me unhappy, and they will help _

_me, so do not fear, I will be safe. I do not know how you will act_

_upon reading this, but please let me tell you how much I love _

_you and how terrible I feel to be doing this to you._

_Your daughter,_

_Mary Bennet._

It took several attempts to write that letter. Before she had finished, there were several screwed up pieces of paper on the floor. And she looked at her watch, and it was five minutes before three o'clock. She calmly put on her pelisse and her bonnet, and soft slippers so that she would make no noise going down the stairs. Mary took a big breath before opening the door, and slipped out. She tiptoed down the stairs. She could hear nothing, but that was disconcerting. She would have rather heard Father snoring or something. Mary knew which steps creaked, she had tested them that afternoon, and so avoided them. She was downstairs. Now she had to avoid waking the servants. She slipped out a side door, and felt a little surprised at her success so far. Quickly she tiptoed to the shadows, and walked round the fence line under the shadow of the wall until she got to the gate. It was a moonlit night, and if she had walked away from the shadow, she would have been clearly seen from a window of the house. She breathed a sigh of relief when she came onto the road and saw a carriage waiting.

"Miss Bennet?" whispered a groom. She nodded. "I'll 'elp ye in, miss," he said. "I 'ope ye'll be comfortable. I'm Jim, by the way."

"Thank you," she whispered, a little too nervous to be very polite. She climbed in quickly, and Jim swung himself onto the carriage. They drove off quickly, but slowed down when they got away from Longbourn. Mary's heart was beating like a bongo drum. She couldn't believe it had worked.

The carriage stopped. Jim came to the door. "Miss, I was told to tell ye that the plans are slightly changed. I won't take ye to the 'averfield inn, I will take ye straight to London, if that's fine with ye."

Mary nodded tiredly. "Fine with me."

Jim eyed her drooping eyelids. "It'd be best if ye got some sleep, miss, if ye can."

"I think I will," replied Mary. He nodded, and returned to his driver's seat. They started again with a jolt, and the rocking and bumping of the carriage soon lulled Mary to sleep.

Jim woke Mary when they arrived in London. It was early in the morning still, but the sun was well and truly up, and Mary was fully awake and watching her surroundings with interest when she arrived at Mr Alcott's residence on Abermarle Street. Mary felt very small getting out of the carriage holding her shabby little valise, rubbing her eyes, in front of the huge, imposing frontage of Mr Alcott's house. The door was thrown open as she advanced cautiously up the steps, and a stately butler welcomed Miss Bennet to the house, and informed her that Mr Alcott was waiting for her in the parlour. He led her in, and closed the door, and she saw her Matthew standing in a corner looking out a window. He turned around as he heard the butler pronounce her name, and an almost goofy smile lit up his face as he rushed across the room to greet her.

"Oh, I've missed you!" he said, giving her a hug. "How are you, my darling? You must be tired!"

"Not at all, I'm wide awake," said Mary, smiling back at him. "I was successful, Matthew!"

"You escaped!" he agreed. "But you make very light of it, my love, I am sure it was not an easy thing to do?"

Mary lowered her eyes. "No," she said quietly, "it wasn't easy. I feel terrible about it, Matthew!"

He kissed her forehead. "You will be fine, Mary. They will not eternally banish you; after all, they did not do that for your sister Lydia, and what she did was much worse, wasn't it?"

She smiled. "That's true."

"Now," he said, "you must have some breakfast."

"I am hungry," admitted Mary.

They ate a delicious and enjoyable breakfast together, and Mary started to feel that if she was going to gain such a glorious future as this, it was worth running away. She couldn't imagine having half so good a time with Mr Collins, and this was only breakfast.

"Now," said Mr Alcott quietly. "Do you think it time to visit your sister?"

Mary looked a little pale. "I think so." She looked at him, her eyes begging help. "Will you come with me?"

He was touched by her need of him. "I don't think I can, Mary. If your sister does not take your point of view, she must not know that I will be looking after you."

Mary looked disappointed. "I suppose you're right."

"I will stop the carriage down the road from the Darcy's townhouse, and wait there for you. If your sister wants to help you, you can send a servant to tell me, and if not, you can find me there later. If you send no word out in an hour's time, I will come and fetch you. We don't want them to force you to stay there."

"Fine," said Mary, taking a deep breath.

_If you liked this chapter (even if you didn't!), come and check out some original fiction and poetry at an e-zine myself and some other writers have created: _

_www. halfwaydownthestairs. net! We've put a lot of work into it and had a lot of fun, so it would be great to get any comments on it. We also accept outside submissions for our next publication. _


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